


Gone Kayaking

by LotusFlair



Series: A Series of Archival Speculations [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst and Feels, The Eye, The Lonely - Freeform, making the hard choices, monsters and humans - Freeform, speaking with the dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-22 12:10:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20873996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusFlair/pseuds/LotusFlair
Summary: Jon is running out of people to talk to, so an old friend shows up to give him some advice.ORI miss Tim and I need to write something so I'm not thinking about how close to the S4 finale we are and what will likely be a not-so-great time.





	Gone Kayaking

Jon wasn't sure how long he'd been staring at the wall. There were no windows to the outside world in the archives. Its unfortunate location in what was essentially the Institute's basement only fed into the long-running stereotype of dust-covered tomes and vampiric employees who cursed the sunlight while shaking their fists in the air. To be fair, the vampiric element of the gossip was relatively true in light of recent events, but Jon still took issue with it on principle. But it didn't really matter what he thought at this point. He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen a university student or any academic researchers requesting access to the archives. He wasn't entirely sure the Magnus Institute was actively open to the public. News had always traveled slowly through the archives, but now it was dead on arrival. It didn't help that he was losing what was left of his staff at a fairly alarming rate.

Basira and Daisy kept to themselves most of the time. Jon was there, but he knew, deep down, that we wasn't truly part of whatever it was going on between them. Basira was still civil, but ultimately dismissive of him and Daisy was preoccupied with keeping herself alert and upright. They had the space for each other, but Jon made for an inconvenient third wheel that needed saving from Hunters every so often. Melanie was...gone. He'd checked on her status at the hospital. She was fine except for the self-inflicted gouging, but Jon made sure there would be no psychiatric consequences to her escape plan. She'd made it out and she was never coming back. And Martin...well, he was gone too in the sense that he was determined to stay and fulfill whatever plan Peter Lukas had for stopping the Extinction. Jon regretted the rashness and desperation of his plea to blind themselves and leave the archives together, but he couldn't shake the coldness of Martin's voice as he laid bare the truth of the matter: Jonathan Sims was a coward.

So here he was, contemplating the off-white paint on the walls while time slowly ticked by. The longer he stayed, the weaker he felt. The written statements barely made a dent in his hunger these days and going outside the confines of the archives was out of the question. Sitting in his office with just his thoughts for company was the only option that didn't result in immediate death. Wasting away, however, was far more likely. There was a sharp sense of irony in that thought. He'd already been blown up, but now his life was incrementally draining away. It was the purest form of a whimper that he could conceive.

Of course, thinking about the explosion that had technically killed him turned his thoughts to Tim. When he'd still been able to leave the archives, after waking from the coma, he'd gone to visit Tim's grave. At the time, he couldn't think of anything to say so he stood in silence for twenty minutes and laid flowers by the headstone. What could you say to the person who actually saved the world except "Thank you" and "I'm sorry"? They hadn't been on the best of terms when he set off the bomb, but Jon remembered seeing - in that split second between life and death - the dashing smile of the real Tim Stoker. He'd gotten his revenge, Jon had seen to that, but in the frequent trips down memory lane he subjected himself to Jon wished for nothing more than to talk to Tim again.

_Is that a request?_

Jon jumped at the disembodied voice. He felt the air in the room change as a tall, fairly handsome black man stepped into the office between blinks. True to his description, worry lines extended from his eyes along a face as somber as his clothing. Fashioned to his shadow were black tendrils that swayed along the dimly lit floor. He attempted a smile, but it didn't quite work; he was out of practice given his particular affiliation. While he'd never met the man in person, at least not while he was conscious, Jon felt the energy of the room, the static curling at the edge of his hearing, and realized how familiar it was to his stay in hospital.

"Oliver," Jon said flatly. "Or is it Antonio?"

He shrugged. "Whatever you prefer, Archivist. I'd say you look better than when I last saw you, but I actually think you look worse."

Jon sighed, "What do you want?"

"I was going to ask you the same question."

"What?"

Oliver regarded him curiously before pulling out a pocket watch and checking the time. "I can't explain it exactly, but...let's just say your mind casts a very broad, _very compelling_, signal towards our ilk. Usually, it's on such a low frequency that we can ignore it. Today, though...today you were very persuasive."

"I'm...sorry? What did you mean by 'request'?"

"You were very strongly broadcasting your desire to talk to someone named Tim," Oliver said. Jon startled at the seeming invasion of privacy. "Don't look so surprised, Archivist, you're not the only one capable of Knowing things. I imagine you're referring to Timothy Stoker? Former archival assistant to the Magnus Institute? Deceased ten months, five days, fourteen minutes, and twenty-two seconds?"

"Y-yes..."

"Are you requesting an audience?"

"I-I...is that even possible?"

Oliver checked his watch again. "Today, at this moment, yes. A couple of ground rules, though, yeah?"

Jon nodded. "Okay."

"This is a one-time thing. You want to do this again, you'll have to find another way. Rituals, spells, evil books, anything but my involvement is preferred. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Second - don't try to do this again. Clear?"

"Yes."

Checking his watch again, Oliver nodded. "Alright then."

The static curled and twisted in time with the black tendrils under Oliver's will. Jon watched as the man standing before him closed his eyes and, for lack of a better term, shifted out of existence. In his place was the specter of Tim Stoker. Still slightly tanned, with the beginnings of a slapdash beard, and sporting the lengthy waves of brown hair he'd cut off during his depression, Tim looked like a man just returned from his latest outdoor adventure. He'd always been a thrill seeker, probably as a means of counterbalancing the relative tedium of working as an archival assistant and researcher. Before they'd moved to the archives, Tim was the one constantly showing off pictures of his exploits outside of the condensed urban environment of London. Mountain climbing, hiking, sailing, white water rafting, scuba diving, it was never just one thing for Tim. It was everything and anything that got his adrenaline pumping. Had he lived, Jon was almost certain the Vast would have come calling.

Now, though, Tim stood in a state of mild confusion, but when his green eyes met Jon's the moment of recognition softened his gaze.

"Hey, Boss," he said. The contempt and accusatory tone had vanished. It was the lighthearted greeting of a Tim Stoker unencumbered by the pain of his brother's death or the anger of a life beset by fear-mongering entities. Jon felt his eyes welling up around the edges.

"Tim..."

"You're lucky I'm incorporeal or I'd be punching you in the face right now."

He laughed. He couldn't help it. Tim was here and even if he was threatening him, he was still here talking to him. "I suppose I'd still deserve it."

Tim waved it off. "Not really. I just didn't want you to think I'd gone soft just because I'm dead."

"I...Tim..."

"I take it we won? I mean, you're here. The archives are still here? Counts as a win, right?"

"In a sense."

"What? Did Elias pull some supervillain bullshit and reveal his secret plan?"

"No," Jon said with a breathy laugh. "Nothing so overly dramatic. He's in jail, though. Martin's plan worked...at least on that end."

"Brilliant!" Tim exclaimed. When Jon barely cracked a smile and kept his eyes low, he realized there was more. "But?"

"I...was in a coma for six months. No heart beat, no breath, but plenty of brain activity to confuse the doctors. Gave myself over to the Eye, lost some of my humanity, because I didn't want to die. Woke up and Martin was, and still is, working for Peter Lukas, an avatar of the Lonely. Daisy was lost in the Buried, but I got her out. She's refusing to give into the Hunt and is fading away. Basira has become entangled in the business of the Eye. Melanie was partially linked to the Slaughter, but I took the invisible bullet out of her leg and that stopped...mostly. There's another Fear, the Extinction, on the cusp of being born. And I apparently have to sustain myself on direct from subject statements or I could waste away and die."

Jon slumped into his chair. Just relaying the past year's worth of news left him exhausted. Tim, to his credit, took it all in with a slight nod and a thoughtful expression. Jon realized he'd left something out.

"Oh and I found a way to quit the archives," he said. Tim's eyes darted to the Archivist.

"How?"

"Gouging out your eyes. Though, I suppose, any form of self-mutilation that results in blindness will do."

"Wow," Tim said because it was the only thing he could say. Running a hand through his hair, he took a deep breath and let it out with a huff. It was odd to see a ghost go through the motions of breathing. Were the performative aspects of being human ingrained in our spirits? Did Tim even realize he was doing it? "That's messed up."

Jon chuckled. "I can't argue with that."

"So...are you going to...do it?" Tim asked.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, I'm not going to do it. Martin made it very clear that I won't. And he's right. I'm probably too far gone to survive it. I don't even know what's actually keeping me alive other than the statements. But even with all of the suffering I've caused because I'm the Archivist...I still don't want to die. I can't bring myself to escape even though I know the way out."

"Jon..."

"Would you do it?" Jon asked. "If you'd lived and I told you that the only way to get out of here was to sear your eyes shut, or splash acid in your face, or slam your head into an ice pick...would you?"

Tim took a moment to think. He nodded, "Yeah. I probably would."

"Yes...I guessed you might."

"This life...these circumstances...it wasn't for me, Jon. I never wanted it."

"And you think I did?" he asked, glaring as anger swelled within. "You think I'm built for this? Living off of the misery of strangers while the people I care about heap their blame and suspicions on me?"

"That's not what I meant!" Tim shouted.

"Then what? What did you mean, Tim? You died in a blaze of glory, a proper hero. You didn't become a monster like me because you didn't even get the choice. I had to make a decision and now I'm living with the consequences."

"What do you want me to say? Poor Jon and his poor life choices? You're _alive_, Jon. That means something!"

"This isn't living, Tim. I'm just...existing," he said morosely.

"Then exist as something useful," Tim offered. "You ran off to China and America chasing answers, right? What're you chasing this time?"

"Martin..." Jon grumbled. That threw the apparition. Jon had never seen a speechless Tim before. Even when he was angry he always had something to say. 

"A lot _has_ changed around here," Tim said. "Well, okay, go find him. Get your answers."

Jon sighed. "It's not that simple. Things are complicated with Martin."

"Now you're just making excuses," Tim said harshly. "That your new hobby?"

"You have no idea--"

"What do you want from me, Jon? Why am I even here?!"

"Because I'm a monster and I need to die!" Jon cried out. He was breathing heavily, his body shaking with some ill-defined emotion. "Tell me, Tim. Tell me the world is better off without me. You never stopped speaking your mind, even at the end. You're the only one I trust to tell me I'm right to fade away. Just...tell me!"

Tim considered him silently. The longer it stretched, the more desperate Jon became.

"_Please_," he pleaded.

"No," Tim said.

The shock of it left Jon momentarily speechless. Recovering slightly, he asked, "Why?"

"Because it wouldn't be true," he said. Tim made like he was going to give Jon a friendly squeeze on the shoulder, but realized his ghostly state and pulled back. "You wouldn't care this much if you weren't human enough."

The two men stood staring at each other, their personal history suddenly a blip in the greater significance of the conversation. Weariness forced Jon to sit again. Tim's gaze followed him, concern in his green eyes. He offered a slight smile, which Jon recognized as the closest they were ever going to get to closure on what had transpired between them not so long ago. Jon was about to say something when he felt the static spike as the Knowing told him Basira was coming towards the office. He cursed, wishing for this to be one of the days where Basira left well enough alone. Looking at Tim, he could see his image fading. It occurred to Jon that he may have been hallucinating the whole time.

"Time's up, Boss," Tim said.

"Tim..."

"Don't fuck it up," he said, his image fading further. "World still needs saving."

And he was gone. When Basira opened the door, the last remnants of Tim Stoker disappeared. Entering the office, Basira looked at him funnily.

"You alright?" she asked.

He hadn't realized he was crying. Wiping at his eyes, he stood to greet her. "Yeah, it's...nothing. What can I do for you, Basira?"

"Lukas is on the move."

"Martin?"

"With him."

"Right...let's go."


End file.
